Don't Tell Cap
by 8belles
Summary: An interaction between Sam Wilson and Scott Lang post Ant Man, Pre Cap 3:Civil war. Spoilers for post credit scene in Ant Man. Reviews are always welcome.


Don't Tell Cap

 **A/N: So Ant Man kicks Falcon's butt and then by the end of the movie, Sam is looking for him. This is a short related to their interaction. Also- I don't speak Spanish so Google translate is my friend. My apologies to native speakers.**

The dive bar was dimly lit compared to the blazing late afternoon San Francisco sunlight. It smelled of stale beer, spilled whiskey and cheap tobacco. Hispanic music played with the strums of guitars, trumpets and Spanish lyrics. Heavily tattooed men huddled around small round tables, nursing their bottles, casting suspicious glances at anyone they didn't recognize. Muscles rippled dangerously if it was someone they didn't like or know.

A few clicks and clacks of billiard balls punctuated the low level of conversation with the occasional shout of victory or groan of defeat. Money exchanged hands periodically. Every once in a while a pistol, knife or cash moved between men under tables while eyes kept watch.

The large burly barkeep wiped the counter absently with a rag that used to be white, watching his usual afternoon crowd file in and out. His tattoos declared his allegiances to various gangs and the studs on his leather wrist cuffs scraped the dented wood bar top with a hiss. There was a quiet easy masculine hum to the place as he poured a few shots and passed them out, taking cash in return. Maybe today there would be no bar fights. It was always a pain to clean up after, especially if the cops showed. The last few, they didn't bother to so all he had to do was mop up the blood and sweep the broken furniture into the alley dumpster. He left the bullet holes in the walls as a reminder to others.

Falcon parked his motorcycle outside in the long line of bikes and took in the scene. "This was the place, right Vision?" he said suspiciously into his comm not liking the looks of the situation as he pulled his googles up to his forehead.

Vision had temporarily filled in for J.A.R.V.I.S. since his 'birth' until Tony could whip up a new house bot for the Avengers HQ.

The cool British voice replied in his ear, "Yes. Do you need assistance?"

Sam glanced around a bit more, trying to be discrete, "Nah. I'm fine. I'm going in."

"I will be monitoring." Vision replied and the comm went silent.

With a sigh, Wilson moved toward the building door. _Things I do for Steve_ , he thought grouchily _, he's going to owe me big time. Again._

With a rough shove, he pushed the door open and almost hit an exiting patron, " 'Scuze me."

The man with a blue bandana tied so tightly across his forehead Wilson thought it would crush his skull sneered "Outta my way."

"Sure thing." Sam let the man pass as he pushed by the Avenger with a withering stare. Sam adjusted his attitude and continued into the gloomy interior.

 _Damn, last time I was in a bar like this, I was under 21_ , Sam thought to himself, keeping his face neutral. The bar went silent except for the salsa song playing from the juke box. The bartender stopped wiping his scarred bar top and stared at the Avenger. _Hey!_ _We don't serve their kind_ _here,_ Sam smiled to himself wondering if Steve would get that reference if he was there, which Wilson was acutely aware he was not.

Falcon stepped further into the bar, hairs raising up on the back of his neck but keeping a straight face. He assessed in a few seconds how many weapons were in the room and who was more competent to use them in. Finding an empty spot at the bar, he leaned an elbow, "Get a Bud down here?"

The bartender ignored him as uneasy glances passed around the space.

"Ola. Puedo obtener una Corona o Dos Eqquis?" Wilson asked a bit louder. The bartender smiled slightly and reached into the cooler of ice, popping off the top in one motion and handing the bottle to Sam. Wilson pulled out some cash and paid. "Thanks." Falcon said as an afterthought. The bartender had already turned his back and gone to the cash register. Sam figured he wasn't going to get his change back, and for the short amount of time he'd be here, that was just _fine._

It was Sam's turn to look about the room now that the level of conversation began to increase again although there was a subtle shift in tone and the crackle of caution suffused the bar. He reviewed the intel that reporter had given him… the one who "shrinks." Guy with brown hair, green eyes, little less than six foot… Caucasian, Wilson searched between false sips of beer. A glance at his watch revealed that his shrinking friend was late. He said he'd be here.

"Looking for me?" A voice quietly said on his right.

Sam swiveled quickly, left fist already coiled, at the man he was looking for.

"Look casual. Or you'll get us killed." The man leaned in on the bar and waved for a drink. The bartender served him immediately. Falcon relaxed his hand.

Sam looked out over the bar easily and not at the man next to him and asked casually, "If it's so dangerous, why you want to meet here?"

"Oh. Sorry. Clarification, you'll be the one getting killed." The man smiled easily, the wrinkles pinching at the corners of his eyes.

Wilson gave him a flat 'I can't believe this' stare.

"Just kidding! No. We're surrounded by great compadres!" The man waved at few scary looking tattooed bikers across the room and they waved back with their drinks, smiles on meaty faces.

"You him?" Wilson was getting tired of his games, "You that guy? The one who shrinks?"

"Wait. You mean the one who kicked your ass?" the man glanced impishly at Sam, not hiding his pride. The stranger took a swig of beer. "By the way, I did not come to the Avengers HQ to kick your ass. Really."

Falcon grilled him with a glare, "As I recall, you were so _honored_ to meet me at the time, thief."

"Yes, I was. And you put up a great fight there, Falcon. Top notch." The man replied tilting his beer towards Sam in salute.

"Ok bug boy, then tell me your real name and I'll tell you what I want." Sam growled.

"First, it's not 'bug boy'. I told you it was Ant Man." He looked hurt.

"Ant Man. Right." Sam replied neutrally.

"And I'm not a thief. Not any more." Ant Man continued, his eyebrows coming together seriously.

"Whatever. Now..real name?" Sam pressed.

"Scott. Scott Lang." Scott extended a hand.

Wilson took it and shook it firmly, "Sam Wilson."

"Oh I know. Trust me. I know you!" Scott began to look a little awed, "What's it like? Being an Avenger?"

Wilson took small sip of his beer, "Well, why don't you find out yourself."

"Are you serious?!" Scott exclaimed drawing the attention of a few patrons. Sam looked concerned at the out burst.

"Yes. I'm serious." Wilson whispered, "Don't get all crazy about it."

"Did Captain America notice me? Who was it?" Lang leaned in, elbows on the dented bar top, like a kid trying to figure out if Santa was real.

Sam leaned back, giving Ant Man an appraising look. "No. He did not see you. He heard… things."

Scott adjusted his face to a more adult-like expression but the sparkle in his eye remained. "Like how I kicked your ass?"

Wilson sighed exasperatedly. This was not going away. "Look. Are you in or are you out? We are in a tight spot right now. Someone needs your help."

"Who?" Scott became instantly focused.

"A friend. A good friend of Cap's." Falcon said respectfully with a tint of sadness.

Lang took a swig of his beer and thought about it. He had just made inroads with his ex, even her stupid police fiancée. Hank was on the mend and, well, he'd have to not see Hope as often. But he had a duty…a gift, of sorts. This was the continuation of his 'second chance'.

"When do we start?" Lang asked, his voice the strength of steel.

"We just did." Sam replied.


End file.
